Memory Lane
by Kate Higgins
Summary: Something very strange happens to Angel, and it's up to Cordelia and Wesley to help him... shanshu on the rocks with a twist [C/A]
1. Moulin Rouge

**MEMORY LANE**

  
Author: Katharine  
Email: kaffeineaddict@hotmail.com  
Summary: Shanshu on the rocks with a twist...  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Season 2 of Angel, Season 5 of Buffy (and possibly minor spoilers for the opener of Season 6, although I myself haven't seen it)  
Disclaimer: My attorneys inform me it's wrong to claim ownership of things that are not mine. The only thing I can say is mine is the plot.  
Dedication: Wow. Uhm, this fic was dedicated to a hell of a lot of people. This time, I'd like to say a big thank you to my fellow Nutters, for just being fabulous. SJ, Chelle, Ky, here's hoping we all stay that way ;)   
Distribution: Want, take, have. Let me know if you have, so I can take the opportunity to see where it was wanted.  
Feedback: Please. I lost all the feedback from this story when the old board went down, and I'd love to know who's been patient enough with me to continue to follow it.  
And here it is: Memory Lane: Shanshu on the Rocks with a Twist (the Director's Edit)  


* * *

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return." Cordelia gave up trying not to cry. The tears flooded down her cheeks as she sniffled loudly, and reached for a tissue. As the movie ended, she sat silently, completely miserable. It was her favourite film, but it got her every time. Never failed to ruin her makeup. When she'd managed to calm herself, wiping her eyes, she turned to Angel. 

"So? Wasn't that just the most fantastic movie you've ever seen?" Angel couldn't look her in the eye. He couldn't believe he'd just wasted two and a half hours of - okay, so he had eternity, but - Cordelia looked at him expectantly. He coughed uncomfortably. "Oh, come on! 'Above all things, I believe in love'? 'Love is like oxygen?'!" 

"I, uh... the choreography was... and the lighting -" 

"Yeah, I know, but the storyline? Wowsome, huh?" 

Angel wracked his brain for something he could truthfully say. He just hadn't really... got it. Not to mention that tragic romances weren't his thing. He'd experienced enough doomed romances three dimensionally without having to watch them from an audience's perspective. He realised that the silence had been going on far too long, and the girl sitting beside him on the couch was starting to look a little irked. Just as he was starting to plan his epitaph, his saving grace came from the other side of Cordelia. 

Wesley was snoring. 

She whacked him across the chest. "I'm awake! I'm watching..." Cordelia raised an eyebrow. "I had very little sleep last night, and I only missed the credits!" 

"Wesley. What happened at the end of the movie?" Cordelia asked, ever so sweetly. Wes looked horrified, and hedged his bets with a nice, happy, Hollywood cliche. 

"All the lovely people managed to open their theatre, and... the two main characters lived happily ever after?" he tried. Cordelia hit him again. 

"Nice try, buster. First thing - if you'd even been watching the very *beginning* of the film, you'd know it didn't have a happy ending. Secondly - you don't even know the names of the main characters, do you? And thirdly, you made me sit through the Sound of Music - also a musical, by the way, and an inferior one at that! - which has Julie Andrews in it, who I really hate!" 

"Whom." 

"Sorry?" Cordy said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

"Uhmm... nothing," Wes quickly amended, not wanting to inspire the further wrath of an already irritated Cordy. Cordelia turned to Angel, who quickly tried to pretend he hadn't been about to fall asleep. She raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Wes. 

"And, Julie's number one fan," she smirked as Wes blanched, "oh yes, I've noticed your email username, original much? Lastly, I know that you and Angel are members of that special Sound of Music Fan mailing list. You think I don't go through your inboxes? Pfft, one of the most interesting parts of my otherwise dull day." Wesley looked in astonishment at Angel, who was experimenting with the theory that if you sink far enough into a couch, it'll swallow you all up. 

"What? It's a classic..." he muttered. 

"Indeed," Wesley agreed. "Although, this startling information worries me a little. We do know that Angelus always had an obsession with nuns..." Cordelia rolled her eyes, and Angel glared at him. "I liked the part of htat film where they sang 'The Hills are Alive'..." 

"Oh, so you were awake for the first ten minutes..." Cordelia muttered. 

"What's your favourite song? I've never really been able to talk to anyone about this..." Wes continued, ignoring the mutterings of the seer. 

"Maybe because the rest of the world are *normal*," Cordy interjected. 

"I, uh, I think Edelweiss is kind of pretty..." Angel said quietly. He wasn't sure why he admitted it; it would just result in months of teasing. 

"Enough of the madness! Geez, I cannot believe you preferred *that* to a movie that can successfully mix Marilyn and Madonna, with Elton and Bowie on the side!" 

"Well, I don't really think those people were around in 1899 - it wasn't very historically accurate..." Wesley added, ever so helpfully, stopping as he froze under the ice cold glare. Cordelia sighed from where she sat between the two pop culturally-challenged men. She should have known they would never appreciate watching a 'Bohemian Storm' brewing. "And the real Moulin Rouge was nowhere near as clean and pleasant..." 

"That's true," Angel nodded. "It was one of my - Angelus' favourite haunts just before we went to China. One of the things that movie did get right: there was some truly beautiful women of the night there at the time..." 

"Fair enough," Wesley said. "But, as I was saying, there were certain historical anachronisms in the film. For example-" Cordelia looked heaven-wards, but Wes, as usual, didn't take the hint. 

"Oh, for the love of-" 

"And Patti LaBelle was *certainly* not around; although, when you look at her..." 

In fact, it was only when there was a thump from the other end of the couch that he finally stopped, and looked at the empty spot on Cordelia's couch where Angel had been sitting. 

He was now curled up in the fetal position on the floor, convulsing and shaking. Cordelia yelped in horror, and knelt down next to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. 

"Angel? Angel?! What's... what's...what the hell did you do to him?" she yelled accusingly at Wesley. Wesley looked both worried and annoyed. 

"*I* did nothing. Maybe that ridiculous film made him remember another heinous crime he committed as Angelus; awoke some memory of, I don't know, his torturing prostitutes in Paris or something equally disturbing!" Cordelia exhaled in despair. 

"Oh, shit! Geez, come on, Angel, it was only a movie! It's good, but it's not *that* good. It's not even realistic! Just... stop it!" she commanded. It seemed to work He started convulsing a little less, Cordelia still kneeling with his head in her lap. She grinned triumphantly at Wesley, but the terror in her eyes gave away some of what she was actually feeling. She suddenly yanked her hand away from his body, as if scalded. "Wesley... he's.... *warm*," she whispered. Angel suddenly sat straight up. 

"Wh... where am I?" he asked, confused and disoriented. Cordelia's eyes widened in disbelief, and a little horror. Wesley leaned in a little closer, not believing his own ears. "I... I don't know... where is this place?" he repeated. With a very distinct Irish brogue. 

"A...Angel?" Cordelia asked, fear in her voice. Wesley looked grimly at the man sitting on the floor next to the seer. 

"That's not Angel."

  
to be continued... 


	2. Caritas

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 2 

"That's not Angel," Wesley said, eyeing the man warily. 

"What? Of course it's Angel. I mean, he's just a little... a little... more..." Cordelia searched for words, trying to remain calm. "Irish?" Wesley looked apprehensively at the man sitting in bemusement on the carpet. Without being fully aware of his actions, he backed off ever so slightly. 

"Cordelia... how much has Angel told you about his past?" Wesley asked quietly. Cordy frowned, not sure if she wanted to know what the ex-watcher was implying. 

"You mean, like, Angelus past? Well, he always seemed to, well, skimp on the details... I never wanted to ask, it made him get all glowery and broody; well, more so than usual, if you can picture that!" She let out a nervous laugh. "I mean, come on, he's not... is he?" Now she was just plain scared. There was no way that this could have happened. Still, it could be very, very bad. She quickly scrambled backwards, keeping her gaze fixed on the bewildered man, who was now looking up at her in a very strange way. "He doesn't... *look* evil." 

"And of course, you can tell at a glance," Wesley said sarcastically. 

"Begging yer pardon, but I... I seem to have lost me way. Methinks I had a little too much ale last night," the familiar stranger said. "Me parents did always warn me that one day I'd end up in all kinds of... unusual places, but I never imagined anything like this." He was now casting an astonished gaze around the room, with its large television, other electrical appliances and many other modern trappings. "I've not seen anything like it. If ye'd kindly tell me whereabouts in Galway I've landed, I'll be along me merry way." He looked up at Cordelia, and his features suddenly brightened. "Of course, after I've had the chance to introduce meself properly to this lovely lady," he said, leering suggestively at her. 

This was all a little too surreal for Cordy. Some strange man, with the accent Doyle's voice used to take on when he was completely drunk, had apparently taken over the body of her friend, thought he was still in Ireland, and from the way he was looking at the electric lamps, had no idea what a light bulb was. He was also coming onto her, big time. Ugh, it had to be Angel attempting to make a joke. She wasn't entirely sure that Angel even had a sense of humour; at least, not one like this, but still. 

"Nu-uh, you first, buster. What are you playing at?" she asked suspiciously. 

"What the lady means to say," Wesley quickly interjected, "is that she would appreciate a proper introduction." Cordelia shot him a dagger-heavy look. She was absolutely sure that this was some kind of sick game the two of them had concocted. "My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, this is Cordelia Chase." 

"They call me Liam..." he frowned. "I wonder if you could help; I seem to have forgotten a few things. Always had a terrible memory, I did. I seem to be havin' some trouble remembering what has happened." 

Cordelia and Wesley looked at each other. Cordy was beginning to think that maybe this wasn't some kind of juvenile wind-up. And that thought made her more than a little nervous. 

"Uh, Liam," Wesley said, "do you remember what was the last thing to happen to you?" Again, Liam frowned. Searching his now hazy memory, he slowly recounted the events as they came back to him. 

"I do remember... I was walkin' down an alleyway; I'd just been thrown out of a tavern for incitin' a brawl. I suddenly caught sight of this beautiful blonde thing, gorgeous, she was, all dressed up in the garments best befittin' noble folk. I... I went over to her, askin' what such a lovely lady was doing in such a dangerous part of town, and she..." His voice, previously having taken on a wistful tone suddenly trailed off, and his eyes widened at the strange memory. "She... playful thing, she was, she seemed to be makin' advances of her own, but...the last thing I seem to be remembering her... biting into my neck." He paused for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. "A strange tale, no doubt fabricated by me half drunken mind. I appreciate your hospitality, but, if ye'll be excusin' me, I'd best be getting home..." He got up, and made to move towards the door. Suddenly, he looked down at the black pullover and pants he was wearing, and ran a hand through the suddenly short hair. He sat back down hard on the couch, staring into space. "What hell is this?" he murmured. 

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas any more..." Cordy muttered to herself. "You're not in hell, you're in Los Angeles." She pondered that statement for a moment. "Although, actually... Wesley, a word?" Still keeping her gazed fixed on the man calling himself Liam of Galway, she grabbed Wesley by the arm, and dragged him out of Liam's hearing. "Wesley!" she hissed, the pitch of her voice rising. "Are you sure you didn't slip a little something extra into his blood?" Wesley gave her a long, hard look, wondering how it was that he always got the blame for everything. 

"I don't believe that's the question we should be asking. Anyway, you were the one sitting next to him, and I have to say that two and a half hours of being stuck in a kaleidoscope while a madman plays the bagpipes directly into your ear is enough to..." noticing the panic and irritation in his eyes, he though it best to get to the point. "You said that Angel became warm as this happened, yes?" Cordelia nodded impatiently. 

"Hot warm. Like he was sick or something." 

"Now, what is one characteristic we don't usually associate with vampires?" 

"Good taste in movies? Oh! Right, body heat, heartbeat. Ohh," it was beginning to dawn on her. "So he's human? Well, that's great, but excuse me for not being thrilled at having Mr Lecherous Irishman staring at my breasts, he's staring at my breasts!" she managed to shriek while still keeping her voice to an angry hiss. 

Wesley looked over at Liam, who was definitely developing a fondness for the less bulky women's clothes of now. He glanced down at the gauzy, barely there top she was wearing today. 

"I can't think why," he muttered drily, before moving in front of Cordelia so that the human version of Angel didn't have such a favourable view of the seer. Current problem solved, he went back to deliberating over the crisis as a whole. "If I didn't know any better, I would say that Angel has shanshued. But I was under the impression that, if and when he did, it would be after facing much evil, and averting multiple armageddons, and my god Cordelia, aren't you just the slightest bit cold in that outfit?" 

"Urgh, what is it with you disgusting men? Can I not get through *one* day without one or the other of you trying to see down my top or up my skirt?" she said, crossing her arms across her chest. 

"More like see through your top... right," he said at the threatening flash of her eyes. "Yes, right, well, exactly what has Angel told you about his life as a human?" She thought hard. 

"Apart from the whole Ireland thing... yeah, no, it never came up. He never liked to talk about his past. Wesley, we have to get him back!" It was starting to seem like she'd lost her Angel forever - the Angel she really cared about, always worried about whenever he had to go out and save the world, again. Her very best friend in all the world. Maybe more... he meant so much to her, she had no idea what she'd do without him. 

"Cordelia, I promise, I will do my best, but I'm at a loss. I know very little about Angel's past in Galway; from the research I did when we were in Sunnydale, I only know that, having been turned, he slaughtered the inhabitants of the town. Otherwise, I know next to nothing of the human Liam. But I think I have some idea of where we can go to find out..." He looked over at Liam, who was now reverently examining the remote control. "I wonder if his singing voice is any better than our Angel's?" 

* * *

"I can't liiive, if living is without yooou!" All of the patrons of the club winced as the large, hairy demon, that almost resembled a cross between a grizzly bear and John Goodman, plus antlers and the violent aroma of dead fish, tunelessly bleated out the lyrics. As the song came to a close, there was a collective sigh of relief, before some of the more benevolent demons gave a feeble round of applause. The green demon sitting at the bar gave a loud cough, trying to give himself time to think. 

"Why, thank you Sid! Your native tongue may not be English," he squinted at what he assumed was the demon's mouth, "if indeed you have a tongue, but you can sure talk a lyric! And Sid, that little problem you were having, your life partner understands, and it happens to every demon. Now, if anyone else wants to share his feelings, don't be shy! Come talk to Ramon at the bar, and, may I add, Ramone makes a fantabulous tequila sunrise. Don't just take my word for it!" Walking over to the table that Cordelia and Wesley had dragged the overwhelmed Liam to, he raised an eyebrow at the ex-vampire. "Speaking of sunrises, one of the pluses of being a creature of daylight." 

Liam looked the flamboyant demon up and down, having no idea what to think. And he'd thought *his* clothes were bad. The last thing he remembered, the year was around 1754, people dressed normally, and people were... well, *people*. Now he'd suddenly been told it's 2001, he'd been calling himself Angel for the last two hundred years, he'd been an evil vampire for who knew how long, before getting a soul and doing good in this strange city where the colonies had been. It was horrendous. Whatever had possessed him to choose such a pseudonym? Nursing his fifth or sixth drink - he wasn't sure what it was, something to do with vodka, celery, and the Virgin Mother - he blearily gazed around at the other patrons, and the bar itself. He had no idea what was in the strange smelling concoction, but he liked it; it seemed to be taking the edge off. 

However, he wasn't sure he liked the year 2001. There were artificial lights that didn't require a flame, transport without horses, and beings who looked like they had a very bad case of jaundice or gangrene. Extra limbs, slimy, multicoloured; he was convinced this was a nightmare. If he ever woke up, he swore he would never touch any alcohol ever again, or at least not enough to cause such horrible dreams. 

Cordelia looked desperately at the Host. "Please, you have to... fix him! Or at least tell me how! How did this happen?" Lorne let out an ironic chuckle, which did very little to comfort the ex-cheerleader. 

"Sweetie, if I knew what had happened, I'd tell you. Gotta say, I expected to have to wait at least a couple of decades for this little improvement. The old personality swapperooni came as a bit of a shocker to me, too! But, the Powers work in strange ways," he said mysteriously. There was a long silence. 

"And?" Wesley said, more than a little impatient. 

"Woah, Silver! I'm not one of those Chinese fortune cookies, you know; you can't just keep coming to the restaurant trying to get the horoscope that sounds pleasant and clear. If I knew any more, I'd tell you. Believe it or not, I'm not the Powers' number one guy - I'm just a messenger. Not even a messenger - I just get those psychedelic little patterns to read from around people's heads... But I do know that this is eventually for the best. Those that Be are usually pretty all knowing and wise." 

He paused as he looked over at Cordy. It looked as if her heart was breaking. However little he knew about Angel's current incarnation, he'd known all about the feelings in that relationship; he had on more than one occasion thought about knocking their silly little heads together, then locking them in a small room for some alone time, if he heard the family analogy one more time. He sure wouldn't have liked to have been in a family with emotions like that being thrown around; there was a word for it. Incest. Although, in comparison with his own family life, incest was pretty tame. He sighed. 

"Fine. I'm not supposed to help you out with this, but if anyone asks, you tortured poor little old me until I did. You were meant to work it out all on your lonesomes, but I can see how much that's not going to happen. Now, from what I've seen, I'm thinking... it's amnesia, people. More than likely, temporary. And you know what can help shift amnesia?" 

"A stimulus, positive or negative, that evokes powerful memories which have been temporarily buried..." Wesley breathed, having a Eureka moment. Going into Watcher mode, he regurgitated some basic textbook facts to Cordelia and Liam, who were looking completely lost. Well, Liam just looked drunk, but Cordelia was definitely confused. "Amnesia is the loss or impairment of memory, usually caused by injury to the brain, or in more rare cases, by shock." 

"Well, I guess your body suddenly starting to function properly again after two and a half centuries has a pretty high shock factor. And that was just for us," Cordelia stated, beginning to understand what seemed to be going on. 

"Exactly! Now, amnesia is often associated with people who have multiple personalities disorder - although, mostly, psychologists say that doesn't really exist. I think we have a bona fide case with Liam/Angelus/Angel. In many cases of the more usual kind, it was found that the what the patient needed was to be reminded of something or someone who had a significant part in their past before the trauma causing the amnesia. Angel has reverted to the man he used to be, for some strange reason." 

"So... you'd be trying to tell me, I'm not real?" Liam slurred. "I've got to tell ya, this is a most distressin' thing to be happenin' to a man. Are you sure you're not the ones who are figments of my imagination? Because... 'cause I always did have a head full of, full of clouds, 'twas." 

"No, uh, Liam, I don't think it's that you're not real, rather that Angel has chosen to cling onto the one time he remembers being truly happy, without causing any great evils; when he was human. Pure, if you will." 

"Now wait jusht... just a minute, I can assure you that I am far from pure," Liam interrupted as quickly as his dulled mind was keeping up with the conversation, his manhood at stake. 

"Ooh, I know about this!" Cordy rolled her eyes at Liam's somewhat lewd, if cross-eyed, gaze. "Not your macho manliness, the amnesia thing. And, hello, like I care - so you're not exactly a saint. Big deal, move on! Even Wesley here's had sex; although, are you sure Angel didn't confuse the smells of..." she stopped at Wesley's scowl. "Fine, whatever. Anyway, it's like what they do in regression therapy, isn't it? You go back to a past life, something your subconscious is hanging onto, like a security blanket. I read a book about it once," she said in response to the amused or befuddled gazes of all three men. "So, Angel is still in there, and all we have to do is to get him to... go into the light?" 

"Bingo! What do we have for the lovely lady?" the Host said, grinning. "All it'll take is a little trip down memory lane. Have to warn you, darling, it's not going to be as easy as you might think. He's not the only one who's going to have to face his more recent past." Cordelia found she suddenly had a rock weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach. She knew exactly what Lorne was getting at. A glance at Wesley confirmed her fears. Plastering on a fake smile, and an otherwise neutral expression, she turned to Liam. 

"Well, it looks as if you're going to be needing a guide on your tour of Sunnydale!" He focused as well as he could on her cleavage, nodding and smiling. "Wesley, I told you that a Bloody Mary would not be calming." Wesley just looked ashamed and attempted to hide behind his own glass of said drink. Cordelia sighed in frustration. "Wesley, call Gunn; tell him what's happened, and to keep an eye on Fred whilst we're gone, because this is going to be a looong trip," she said.

  
To be continued... 


	3. Sunnyhell

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 3 

"What's that, then?" 

"Palm tree." 

"Right, I see. And that?" 

"Ugh, it's another car. We've already done that one." Cordelia very nearly growled. It was like going on a car journey with a small child. Liam was sitting in the back seat of the convertible, asking inane questions over and over again, and making himself a hazard by almost falling out of the moving car in his excitement on various occasions. And she'd thought it was the alcohol that made him hyper and lecherous. No, turned out that was the very thing that kept him comparatively tame. 

Wesley was driving, trying to block out the cacophony of noises around him. Every now and then, Cordelia would tire of the Twenty Questions for the Insane and Long Dead that Liam seemed to be playing, and start twisting around to glare at him, or make some bitingly sarcastic remark; it only made Wesley want to laugh more, and the banter had almost made him swerve off the road a few times. He could see perfectly clearly that Liam was fully aware of the repetitiveness of his questions, and it only further encouraged him when Cordy pointed it out. 

"How about that?" Cordy sighed and looked to where Liam was pointing. 

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed. "That, oh irritating one, for the hundredth time, is yet another road sign, but this one is different, in a really, really good way. It means that I can finally offload you onto some other people, and maybe get Angel, mark one back." Liam was having way too much fun, and didn't much like the sound of that. He could really get used to the twenty-first century. He could also get used to the nice looking girl in the seat in front of him. 

Turning back to the sign, he squinted in order to read it. The sun was reflecting off the metallic surface, almost giving it a halo. *Welcome to Sunnydale*, it said. *Enjoy your Stay!* As they drove past, Liam noticed that the sign was very dented and battered, almost as if someone had driven right over it; the figures on the sign, most noticably the population, had also been changed. If the sign was that odd, he didn't know what to expect of the town which he had been informed was situated on the mouth of Hell itself. 

* * *

"Okay, remember, no talking until I've had the chance to explain everything!" Cordelia warned Liam. From the flash of anger in her eyes, he knew not to mess with her. He'd known Cordy for all of two days, and he could already spot all of the little things she did to try to hide her emotions. When she was sad, she'd withdraw into the rich-bitch shell she still kept around, and would become ever so shallow and superficial. Anger was an emotion she didn't bother trying to conceal so much - if Cordelia was in a rage, the world knew about it, and ran for cover. Sad and angry were the only two feelings Liam had seen in Cordelia; at least, directed at him. And neither of them were what he could now see in her eyes as she stood at this particular front door. 

Cordelia paused before knocking on Giles' front door. She hadn't ever really wanted to come back here, and, from the sympathetic gaze she was receiving from Wesley, her reluctance was showing. She had no idea what reaction she would get from the Scooby gang; it didn't help that she'd come back to tell Buffy 'Hey Buff, long time, no see. You're looking very alive! But we'll talk about that later. Oh, by the way, the love of your life's forgotten all about you, and everything that's ever happened for say, the last 248 years, and has regressed to a lascivious, perverted, constantly drunk Irishman. And the *funny* part is that we need your memories to get him back.' Yeah, that was going to go over well. From what she'd heard, Buffy wasn't all there any more, and the rest of the Scoobies hated her with a vengeance - she'd been the uberbitch to them all the way through high school, and with the Xander and Willow issues on top... 

Wesley hated to see Cordy in this sort of state. She was obviously taking Angel's disappearance very badly - heck, they all were, himself no exception. He didn't want to say anything to the seer's face, but in his mind, Angel was as good as dead. He couldn't see any way they could get him back. But he didn't say it to Cordelia, because it would crush her; she was clinging on to the painful possibility that the love Angel and Buffy had shared might inspire some memories in Liam, bring Angel back. And even if they did get Angel back - well, who knew what a newly human Angel would want? There was always a chance he'd want to stay in Sunnydale and pick up where he had left off with the ex-love of his life. Now, he may be short-sighted, but Wesley had had no trouble spotting the tension between the vampire and the secretary, and was certain that Cordelia felt something. He was sure his suspicions would be confirmed by this little turn of events. Angel, however, was ever the mystery. Wes had caught the vampire on various occasions pretending to read while staring for hours on end at Cordy, and he always worried about her above anyone else. Cordelia couldn't hardly leave a room without being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition. He had thought at first that the closeness between the two had been familial, and that his tired, research-worn mind had been imagining anything more, beneath the surface; now, he wasn't sure. He was almost certain that if they were together, each one would be happier than ever before. If only they would test his theory; if only they would have the chance to. 

Each one was brought abruptly out of their inner soliloquy by the sudden opening of the door. Cordelia lowered the hand that had been poised to knock, and smiled broadly at... the little old lady standing in front of her? 

"Can I help you, dear?" the woman asked. Cordelia shot a questioning look at Wesley, who shrugged in response. 

"Uh, yes, actually. Is Mr Giles there?" she asked. She had no idea how the woman could possibly be related to Giles or any one of the scoobies - a grandmother, perhaps? But why would she be at Giles'? She certainly didn't sound English... 

"I'm sorry, dear," the lady said, "there's no Mr Giles living here." Cordelia felt as if she were about to sink onto a new, lower level of black depression. On top of losing Angel, she seemed to have lost everyone in Sunnydale as well. "The previous owner was named Rupert... something, I forget," she suddenly said. "Lovely young man. As I recall, he now owns a shop on the high street." Wesley hit his head with the palm of his hand, and groaned. Cordelia thanked the elderly woman, then turned and narrowed her eyes at him. 

"Something you meant to tell us, Wesley dearest?" she asked in an all too sweet voice. He shifted uncomfortably. 

"Um, well, uh, now that you mention it... I received a card from Giles quite some time ago informing us of his new circumstances. I, uh, I actually wrote the new address in my book," he quickly said, fishing out his small black address book and leafing through it. "He owns a magic store, 'The Magic Box'." Cordelia grabbed the book from his hands, read the address, and hit him over the head with it. Satisfied by the yelp of pain, she took Liam, who had just been standing in a dazed silence, by one arm, and Wes by the other, and dragged them back towards the car. 

* * *

"I hope you were right about this," Cordelia hissed as they entered the shop. There was a strange, almost peaceful atmosphere to the place; as she looked around, she could see various strange occult objects on the shelves, not to mention the hundreds of books Giles had no doubt regretfully placed in public view. That must have caused him some personal pain. As they walked further into the shop, a bouncy, cheerful, loud voice suddenly made them all jump. 

"Welcome to the Magic Box! We appreciate your custom...how can I help you spend your money? I can take either paper or pieces of plastic!" Cordy squinted at the girl, vaguely recognising her. Wesley was having the same strange feeling, but couldn't place the face. Liam was too busy looking the girl up and down, admiring her assets, to care. 

"Hello, uh, we were actually looking for the proprietor, but if he's not around..." 

"Angel?" the voice cut through Wesley's mumblings. Cordelia had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Was she suddenly invisible? Although, the blank look Liam was giving everyone at the back of the shop was very amusing, if only for their reactions. 

"Hey guys," Cordy said, as everyone's eyes settled on her. There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, then all of a sudden someone threw himself at her. 

"Good to see you, CC," Xander said, having disengaged her from his hug. Cordelia just stared at him. 

"Xander, just to remind you, and maybe myself, you hate me, right?" 

"Oh, ignore him, he's permanently on a high these days. The rest of us remember how much we're supposed to despise you," Willow said, smiling. "We don't know you well enough to do that any more." 

"Xander and I are getting married," the familiar girl said, "so I don't worry about him being inappropriate with other women." Xander walked over to the girl, put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. 

"You know I wouldn't ever have the chance. Cordelia, this is Anya. She was my date to the Prom, and..." 

"You're man-killing ex-demon girl!" Cordelia said, recognising her. "We hung out for a bit," she said to the others. "Before the whole mayor, snake, graduation fiasco. So, how is the mayor? Still crispy?" Willow nodded. 

"There's been a whole lot of other evil going down here since you left. As, I'm sure, there's been in LA." Cordelia suddenly noticed out of the corner of her eye Buffy sitting at the table. She was gazing blankly into space, looking a little... well, stoned. Not the reaction Cordy had been expecting to an apparent return of Angel. 

"And how are you, Wesley?" Giles suddenly emerged from the shadows near the back of the room. "Still chasing after teenage girls?" Both Cordelia and Wesley flinched, having tried hard to forget about that. Giles smiled. "Joking. To be serious for a moment, the Council have stopped stalking you, yes?" Cordelia looked at Wesley in confusion. 

"What... stalk, stalking, you didn't tell me..." 

"Yes, thank you, Giles. For a while after I was sacked by the Council, they kept an eye on me, followed me about. Standard procedure, really. Made sure I couldn't get hold of any funds to get back to England, go and tell people about their little fight against darkness, sell trade secrets to demons; that sort of thing. However, when I met up with Angel in Los Angeles, I suppose they decided it was for the best not to annoy me any longer. Speaking of Angel..." he looked at Cordy. Neither knew how to break it to the gang. 

"Yeah, what is it with the old man? And when I say that, I mean, why does he suddenly have a heartbeat, and why's helooking even more poncy than usual?" Cordelia and Wesley looked over to where the voice was coming from, and shrunk back in horror when they saw Spike, sitting quite calmly next to Buffy at the table. Spike chuckled at their reaction. "Well, 's nice to see I can still scare somebody. I take it no-one's explained my little problem?" 

"Spike's safe now," Willow said. "Can't hurt people. And according to Harmony, flowers..." she stopped at his glare. 

"Wait, how does Harmony know Spike?" Cordelia asked, thrown by all of this information. "He's not... he's not... the blondie bear she was talking about? The smothering, he-can't-live-without-me relationship?" All of the people sitting at the table looked at each other, then started to laugh. 

"Bloody hell, more like I couldn't live *with* her," Spike said, as he managed to control himself. "Anyway, now we've got all that cleared up, how's about you answer my question?" He nodded towards Liam, who was currently handling a large, rather ornate cross. He'd been very quiet throughout the introductions; uncharacteristically quiet. He was far too in awe of the quite public situation of a shop catering in the black arts: if anyone had tried such a thing in his time, they'd probably be killed by an angry mob. Aware that everyone was staring at him, he put the cross down, and wandered over to Cordelia. 

"I'm getting the idea that maybe the nickname 'deadboy' is going to be out of use now," Xander said. 

"Something like that. Well, the other night, Angel was just... normal, and complainy, and broody, then all of a sudden, he starts doing this twitchy, shaky routine. So, we thought he was having a fit, and then he got all hot, as in actual heat. Then he starts talking in an Irish accent." 

"That's stupid. The poof hasn't talked in the brogue for about a hundred years. I'm not even sure when he did develop the American accent; it's only slightly better..." 

"Shut up, Spike," most of the people in the shop said in unison. Cordy and Wesley smiled; it was obvious the vampire had been around for a while. 

"If you'd excuse me, I'd really rather you wouldn't be calling me that. As I keep havin' to tell people, I like women, and I am not *pure*." There was a silence as the deep Irish voice echoed around the empty magic shop. 

"What did I tell you about not talking until we've explained?" Cordelia asked. "Okay, so you can see I'm not crazy. We have strange, annoying," she shot a look at Liam, "human, 17th Century Irish guy on our hands, whose name, by the way, is Liam, and we only seem to have on way to get rid of him. Wesley?" she prompted, as she got to the more complex sciencey part. 

"Right, yes. Uh, Angel seems to have regressed to the time in his life when he was... most definitely not in *any* way pure," Liam smiled at him, nodding, "but considerably less wicked; we're assuming on a point of information that this is temporary amnesia and regression, and all we have to do is... remind him, of who he really is." 

"So, naturally, we thought a road trip was in order. And actually, it's worked out pretty well; not only do we have Buff and the Sunnydale crew, but Spike, who can probably bring back a few fond memories." Spike grinned. 

"I think I like this version much better already," he said. "But, I'll help you. And as the person he's known the longest, 's probably most likely I'll be able to knock his noggin back into shape." Cordelia thought about it for a second. Yes, it was Spike, but really, what did they have to lose? 

"Fine, William," she sighed. Spike looked at her strangely, but let it go. Obviously she'd been spending a little too much time with the prancing ballerina, and knew the family history. "But, first, Liam, this is Xander, Anya, Giles, Tara, Willow, Spike, Buffy," she said, as she pointed to each person. 

" 's an honour to make your acquaintances," he said, before Spike walked up to him and put an arm around his shoulder. 

"So, mate. How do you feel about nice, old-fashioned bars?" 

"Y'know, it's funny you should mention that," Cordy heard Liam say as his voice drifted away. Great, that was all she needed to deal with. Drunken Liam, yet again. 

"Wow," Buffy said, after a pause. "He's wacky. And to think I thought what's been happening to us is weird." 

"Just goes to prove, when you think things can't get any worse..." Cordy said, a little put off by Buffy's frankness. "So, what has been happening over here? We can take it in turns; I don't think we know so much about each other's lives any more," she said pointedly. Willow decided to take the question, thinking it probably best to get the little recap over with. 

"Well, uhm, you probably heard that Buffy's mother died, then we found out Dawn wasn't real, and was some kind of key needed to cause chaos. Big battle, we won, but barely. Buffy died. As you also know, of course. And now she's back." Willow glanced over to Buffy, who was staring blankly at her hand. 

"I think that's worse than what's been going on in Demon Central. Dawn's not real?" Willow nodded in confirmation. "Now *that* got missed out of the detail list. Well, the guy I was falling in love with went on a kamikaze mission, but not before passing on head splitting, eyeball burstingly painful disgusting visions of people in trouble." Everyone flinched in sympathy. 

"Anyone else feel like we're seriously lacking some strong alcohol?" Xander asked. 

"There's more," Willow said. "When I... when we brought Buffy back it - it didn't go exactly right and she had... she had to claw her way out of her coffin. I'm still trying to see what side-effects it all caused." Tara squeezed her girlfriend's hand. 

"Sweetie, you can't keep blaming yourself." Willow smiled weakly at her. 

"We got sucked into another dimension, where Cordelia was the Princess." 

"Oh, forget mine, that's the worst," Willow said, smiling whilst blinking back her tears. 

"I knew you had issues with my authority!" Cordy said, as Wesley quickly moved away to avoid any attacks the 'Princess' might try to make. "Yuh, well, anyway, crisis of the moment is definitely Angel's little disappearing stunt. We were kinda hoping that a little chat with Buffy might bring him back," she finished a little sadly. That didn't really seem like much of an option, what with Buffy in this state. 

"Cordelia... I mean, I hope I can help, but-" Buffy sounded, to Cordy's surprise, more lucid than she'd previously let on. "This is all really strange to me and... and I can't even really remember how Angel used to make me feel. I've started to move on, and I really don't want- I remember, when he came here for my mom's funeral, I was clingy; he was all I could remember from my old life, before all this happened, but I don't want that now. I really want to help you get him back, and, and there's a chance I might be able to bring him back to the surface, but I don't want us to be like - like that, again. It confuses me enough as it is, and there's no way I'd want to take any of that on again." She started to drum her fingers quickly against the glass of the table. 

"And what makes you think he wants that either? You don't know him any more, Buffy. Angel's moved on, too; I don't know what exactly he'll want when we get him back, but I'm pretty sure he'll come back to LA with us." Cordelia knew she should be glad that the slayer obviously didn't want Angel to stay with her, but she was annoyed that Buffy would assume it was what Angel's heart was set on. Even when Buffy was all trippy, she seemed sure of having Angel's affections. 

"Well, gee, Cordelia, I'm glad this wasn't as awkward as I thought it might be," Buffy muttered. She really hadn't meant anything other than that she didn't want a relationship with Angel, but Cordy had gotten really protective of him. As if there had been something going on between them; she was acting the jealous, threatened female. 

"I... I just want my best friend back! Is that so hard for you to understand?! 

The Scoobies and Wesley looked on in fascination and horror, waiting to see if either girl was actually going to hit the other one, and if they would have to physically restrain them. All of a sudden, Cordelia's strong, bitchy facade crumbled, and she started to cry. It was the kind of wrenching, choked tears, that had been building up inside her over the last couple of days. It shocked everyone, although Wesley had at least seen her cry before. But that was after the continuous, brain searing visions. She never cried in public, particularly not in front of these people. 

Xander moved from where he had been standing with Anya behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. Slowly, Cordelia turned around, and buried her head in his shirt. He rubbed her back as she continued to sob, whilst giving the other occupants of the room a confused, upset look. He'd never, in all the time he'd known Cordy, seen her break down like this. 

"It's okay, Cordy, we'll do all we can, I promise." There was a shocked silence in the room, but for Cordy's broken sobs, and Xander occasionally whispering something to her, to try and calm her. The observers didn't know whether to laugh or call the police. 

Wesley was finally not only worried about Liam's situation, but of Cordelia's mental state. He'd never seen her this emotionally fragile; happy one minute, down the next. He resolved to get to work on this immediately - he had no idea how this might effect her in the long term, and he was terrified.

  
To be continued... 


	4. London

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 4 (ditto above) 

Spike swaggered over to the bar, Liam a few paces behind him. He sat down on one of the stools, and the bartender immediately walked over, beer in hand. Spike grinned at Liam. 

"Isn't that the way it should be?" he said happily. "My friend 'ere 'll have the same." Seconds later, Liam was sitting at the bar next to Spike, who was acting as if he owned the place. Looking around, he noticed it was another one of those strange places where humans and demons went to mix. When they'd seen Spike walk in, conversations were suddenly muted, but for hushed whispers Liam could guess were about the Slayer. Spike raised an eyebrow at the cowering demons. "And that ain't half bad either. They're all too afraid of the Slayer to come after me now. A year ago, you'd have to take a ticket at a place like this, and stand in line to take a shot at William the Bloody." He snorted, almost as if he found something very funny about the nickname. Liam was started to get impatient. It was all very nice and all, sitting in yet another bar, with yet another person who claimed to have known him for hundreds of years, but he really wanted to get to the point, then get out of here and back to the pretty brunette girl. 

"I don't want to seem rude, but what exactly did you want to tell me?" Liam asked. Again, Spike started to laugh. 

"God, you have slipped right into the gutter, haven't you, mate? When I think of what you were - 'I don't want to seem rude'?" he mimicked. "Now, that was something the Angelus I knew would never have said. Mind you, I don't know about that maniac that came back a couple of years ago. But, y'know, the slayer solved that problem when she sent you to hell..." 

"I've... to hell?" They just kept throwing these little bits of information at him, and he wasn't sure he knew what to do with that one. His interruption didn't seem to bother Spike. 

"Bloody well wish you'd stayed there. Idiot powers that be. I wonder if those blokes can feel pain? Because I'm sure I'd love to torture them for a while; they're not exactly human, so it shouldn't be a problem. Although, I don't think they'd be in the phone book... maybe under 'all-knowing poncy buggers'..." Spike continued to muse. There was a crash of glasses from behind the bar, and he was snapped out of his daze. Looking at the bemused Liam, who was sitting next to him and nursing an imported Guinness. That was what Spike loved about this place - they had Guinness on tap, and did a mighty fine virgin's blood champagne spritzer. It wasn't his kind of drink, mind you, but Dru had always said it made her feel as if tiny little pixies were dancing around inside her mouth. Whatever that was supposed to mean - from his experience of translating her, it probably meant 'good'. 

"Uh... Cordelia, she said you would tell me some sort of story, get the brain ticking over, that kind of thing." Liam felt the need to say something, when Spike drifted off into a strange kind of daze, his eyes glazed over. If Liam had known him at all, he would know that one of Spike's little quirks was that he got quite hazy and nostalgic when thinking about his dark queen. That was one of his traits. Another was that he was a very good story teller. He used to keep Dru amused for hours with his tales. 

"So, it's a story you want. Well..." Spike thought back over the time he'd spent with Angelus. A great deal of it hadn't been that enjoyable. Nothing that would kick start poof mark 2's memory. He thought over all the most horrendous things they'd done as a team. Most had faded away as the years had passed, but there was one thing that really stuck in not only Spike's, but a great deal of the world's, memories. The thing that he and Angelus were at the same time most famous and least famous for. That was when something like anonymity got quite pesky. 

Spike smiled. If anything would make the wanker come back, guilty as ever, this would do it. 

"...I think I have just the thing." 

_**London, 1888**_

Spike was bored. It seemed as if he was the only one, but he was crawling up the walls. Unlike his cold-hearted darling, he took no thrill in the parties of the Season; he didn't find it any fun at all to flirt with the aristocratic girls, in their corsets and bustles, and find an easy meal in them. The seduction was fun - the first few times. It got monotonous after a while. And Spike wasn't one to fade in with the crowd. 

In the eight years he'd been one of the undead, he'd seen very little. And it irked him. He wanted to travel the world, see all of those things his old, dead acquaintances had prattled on about before mocking him. Not just the United Kingdom - he wanted to see everything. He'd already lived in the snobby part of London all his life, and it was starting to grate at him. The British Empire was spreading its tentacles all over the globe; it would be unbelievably easy to board a ship, and go anywhere he desired. But all the time Drusilla wanted to stay in London, he'd stay with her. He had her to thank for his release from his pitiful life; he'd never be able to repay that debt. Instead, he had resolved to spend as long as he could seeing to it that her madness never got her in trouble or hurt, and caring for her if it did. 

Dru loved the banquets, and balls, and theatres of London. She loved to get dressed up according to the latest abominable, masochistic fashion, and parade around with the two handsome men she spent most of her time with one her arm. She enjoyed the looks of envy she received from the younger girls, the lust from the young men, and the disgust from the older, more 'respectable' members of society. Spike took great pleasure in hurting those people who had the gall to insinuate that his princess was a whore, and accuse her of all kinds of strange things; he also had no objections to helping them depart this life. That, in itself, gave Dru the most pleasure of all. She had her Spike as her protector; it didn't matter to her that most of the rumours were started by Angelus in the first place. 

Angelus took some sort of perverse thrill in spreading false rumours about Dru's origins. Neither Dru or Spike were sure why; it was probably because he so enjoyed the 'bloated, manly' look Spike got when he heard the stories, and the numerous ways in which the unsuspecting pawns died. Angelus and Spike were about as different as it was possible for two men to be - Spike was bored out of his skull in London, and Angelus was having the time of his unlife. He enjoyed the debauchery, and the sin, and everything about the slightly dingy, yet somehow incredibly alive city. He loved to seduce the girls at parties, leading them on a pretty dance before getting himself a fresh, young, on occasion virginal meal. He had no intention of leaving the place so soon. 

It was late August, and chilly and damp - not at all unusual for London in the summer. Darla had left for Europe earlier in the month, saying that she had places to be, people to eat. Spike was both glad to see the back of her, and sorry that she'd left him behind. Darla was strictly Angelus' property, but that didn't mean there had been no fun had. A vampiric family was different than a human one, and, if you took the arrangement literally, far more incestuous. He would have loved to have gone with her, but his affections lay with his dark queen, and she refused to leave the bright lights of the chandeliers of the city. Still, he was glad Darla had gone. Angelus was so much more fun without her. When Darla was around, he behaved like a whipped nancy boy, agreeing with all the things the vampiress suggested, and beating Spike up when he had to convince him to join Darla's pathetic little schemes. Now that she was gone, the three of them could have a marvellous time. 

"Bloody marvellous," he said to himself, slightly sarcastically. 

Spike sat staring out of the window of the town house. It was eleven o'clock at night, and rain was pelting down on the street, and Dru had insisted on staying in, or else it would ruin her hair. He still wondered how on earth Angelus had obtained this place - Dru had mentioned one day how she loved Hyde Park, and all the pretty little people who walked through it, and the next thing he knew, they were moving into an elegant townhouse on Park Lane, in one of the most expensive districts in London. He had to hand it to Angelus - he could certainly pick out the rich ones from the flock, and charm them out of their house and their life. Though not necessarily in that order. 

Lost in thought, he nearly jumped as he heard the voice behind him. 

"They're not going to jump up and waltz, you know. It's certainly been a long time since I met a vampire as interested in lamp posts as you seem to be," Angelus smirked. "I suppose, you never were the most interesting lad..." 

"Oh, sod off." Secretly, Spike hoped that Angelus might ignore him, as usual, and stay to irritate him further. At least it was more interesting than staring out across an empty park. Angelus just chuckled. 

"Now, now, my boy, such language hardly seems befitting amongst such finery!" he said, gesturing around the lavishly overdecorated parlour. Spike rolled his eyes. 

"You never did have any taste when it comes to anything," he muttered. 

"On the contrary, my boy; I think you may find that you're best describing yourself. Now, what did I come in here for? Ah, yes..." Spike didn't move, but started to really listen. Whenever Angelus stalled like this, it meant that he had something particularly devious in mind. In fact, when Angelus even decided to speak nearly civilly to Spike, he wanted something or the other. And for Angelus, slight barbs about lamp posts and intelligence were civil. "Drusilla and I were supposed to be attending the ball taking place near the Palladium; to be honest, I'm not particularly upset it was rained off - the people who attend such things tend to be awfully boring," to illustrate, he yawned theatrically. "And I had something else planned." 

Now Spike turned around. He tried hard not to appear too eager, but he was still a young vampire; he knew that the older man was about to unveil a plot for some hideous carnage, and it made him want to yell at the wanker to get on with it. 

"Oh yeah?" he said, his voice sounding slightly strained. That just made Angelus grin all the more. 

"I seem to remember you mentioning something about, wanting to be... famous? Well, I think I might have just the thing..." Now Spike couldn't help but outwardly show his enthusiasm. It seemed like the prancing prat might have some entertainment lined up... he listened carefully as Angelus revealed his plan. 

* * *

It was still raining as Spike walked down Buck's Row just after two o'clock. It was the nasty, English type of drizzle, so he'd put on a cloak, which would also be very handy in obscuring his identity. Whitechapel was one of the seediest, most grimey parts of the East End. He remembered someone describing it as 'an evil plexus of slums that hide human creeping things'; he wasn't about to disagree. Even though he was an evil thing himself, he couldn't help being repulsed by the area. The dark streets were usually lined with prostitutes and drunks who had just been tossed out of the public houses. The people who socialised in the upmarket, 'posh' parts of London liked to imagine that there wasn't a part of their wonderful city where whoring was an acceptable profession, but here it was. Angelus had decided that they could cause an uproar of sorts here, drawing attention to the dregs of society, and still remain anonymous. The dregs of human life he found here didn't bother Spike as much as the fact that he'd voluntarily left Angelus with Dru, but he had been that bored. 

Today, the street was emptier than usual. There was still the occasional prostitute standing on the pavement, calling out to him, but he had yet to choose his victim. Spike knew that if a woman hadn't earned enough money that day to pay for a bed for the night, she'd find someone who would share his in return for certain... favours. As he reached the end of the road, he saw one girl who was prettier than the others, if that was possible, and walked over to her. She grinned at him. 

"'Ello, love," he said, grinning back. He almost felt sorry for the girl; little did she know... Well, almost, he thought. 

* * *

"'Brutal murder in the East End'," Angelus read aloud from the paper. "'A woman, identified as Polly Nichols...' Identified? I thought I told you-" 

"Hey, I followed your instructions to the letter, mate," Spike said. He was thrilled, and a bit surprised, that it had made it into the morning paper. It was only the East London Observer, which Angelus had somehow managed to acquire a copy of, but still. It was on the cover of the tabloid. They'd work on moving up to the starry front pages of the broadsheets. 

"Ah, yes, indeed you did. 'Police Constable John Neil reports that when he found the body, blood was oozing from her throat, which had been slashed from ear to ear with a long bladed knife, with the possible failed attempt to decapitate her.' Got to hand it to the journalists; they can give full credit to our wickedness. 'Mysteriously, there was little blood to be found, even though the corpse had been further mutilated.' Blah, blah, horrible, blah, obscene, sick sociopath..." 

"Give me that," Spike said, tired of Angelus' abridged version. Scanning the article, he found a part he found very amusing. "'The crimes were obviously the work of a demented being' - well, 'being' is probably the right word - 'as the extraordinary violence used is the peculiar feature in each instance.'" Spike stopped, and shot Angelus a look. "Each?" Angelus shrugged. 

"So maybe I got a little hungry, and decided to watch you work. It was too tempting to get in on the act, ya know, get into the papers for meself!" 

"Second victim, Martha Tabram. Stabbed... 39 times? Isn't that a little excessive?" 

"Made the papers, didn't it?" Angelus smiled nonchalantly. Spike nodded in agreement. 

"Indeed it did. 'The two murders have startled London for the reason that both the victims were the poorest of the poor, and no adequate motive in the shape of plunder can be traced. Cruel, silent death has been personified in the figure of a faceless prowler of the night.' They reckon it's the same bloke, did both. Never thought I'd be confused with you. For a start, I'm much better looking," Spike smirked. Angelus grabbed the paper back, noting Spike trying not to flinch as he inflicted multiple paper cuts. He found another part of the article he'd been quite pleased with. 

"The best part: 'In the squalor of crowded tenements, narrow darkened slum streets and alleys, the Whitechapel murderer has found a perfect place for his work.'" Angelus gave a self satisfied smile, which made Spike want to punch him. He always took credit for the most evil things they came up with, just because it was generally Angelus' idea in the first place. "'There was no-one, and no clues found in the vicinity. The killer, due to the violent nature of the murders, is known by the police as Jack the Ripper-'" Angelus stopped, and thought over the interesting new pseudonym. "What d'ya think, Spike?" 

Drusilla, who had been rocking back and forth in her chair, listening to the conversation, suddenly wrapped her arms around Spike. "Ooh, Spike my love, I'm very proud of you. The city buzzes, like lots of bees, all talking about you. Bzzz," she added for emphasis. 

If his princess was happy, Spike was happy. Fame was what he had wanted, and he was definitely enjoying it. Jack the Ripper. He could get used to it. 

* * *

"Wait... this story is supposed to make me want to... revert, to my old self?" Liam asked in disbelief. He'd never heard anything like this. It was sadistic, and disgusting, and characteristically, all the demons in the bar were straining to listen in. Spike pretended not to notice, but loved an audience, and was playing up to them. Sometimes he'd talk very quietly, just for the satisfaction of seeing the demons fall off their stools while leaning in to overhear. 

"No, mate, we don't want that poof back, we want the other one. As much as I prefer the dastardly version, last time we met, he was just a little... well, he was a nutter, and I hated the bastard. So I take it my story's not working?" Liam shook his head. He really didn't want to hear any more of this. 

"Heh, was mainly for my own amusement, anyway. Alright, fine. Quick summary: three more fantastically brutal murders, two of them exactly at the same time - it was always fun to confuse the Victorians - police never worked it out. Bleeding idiots, the lot of them. Got all frantic, suspected any bloke who breathed near the area. Wouldn't ever suspect a pair of supposed toffs, mind you. Got into all the major papers, town criers yelling 'Whitechapel! Another 'orrible murder! Mutilation!'" Spike sighed as the nostalgia overtook him. "Some of the best days of my life, those were. When Angelus and Dru started to get worried that we might be caught, we hopped over to Germany. Mind you, the description they were giving - 5'4", dark hair, moustache, Jewish." 

Liam was getting bored now. Spike had been prattling on for hours, and he just found the story offensive and disturbing. 

"Could we go back to that... that occult store?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate. 

"Alright, and so endeth the tale. How about we have just one more drink before going back and letting the watcher bore us to death? Oh, and don't mention my other persona to him - he puts that in the diaries, and the mystery's gone. It's what makes Jack so famous. No-one knows, and everyone wants to guess." Liam sighed. This man... vampire really did have an ego the size of Britain. But the drink... he'd been running dry for far too long. 

"One more, then we go," he said cheerfully. 

"Right. How's about I tell you about me and Dru's little stay in Transylvania? Russians are quite tasty, y'know." Off Liam's look, Spike got the impression that he'd told enough Tales from the Crypt for night. "Obviously, you don't want to know. Fine. Criticise my skills of story tellin', hit old Spike where it hurts. Barkeep!" he yelled in his best poncy English accent. Just one more drink. That was all.

To be continued....


	5. The Magic Box

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 5 

Cordelia sat at the back of the room, agitatedly flicking through the very large, very heavy book of demonology. They had been in Sunnydale for over a week, and so far, nothing, nada, zip. It had taken Liam a few days to recover from his and Spike's little excursion -- after the telling of what was no doubt a morbid, gross story, Liam and the bleached nitwit had proceeded to get so drunk they nearly fell of the face of the earth. They'd wandered into the door of the Magic Box just before sunrise, and Spike's precious hair was starting to sizzle. He was attempting to teach Liam the drunk's version of My Way, and obviously not having much luck. Not much of a surprise, Cordelia thought, since they were both so smashed that they were clinging to each other, and having a lot of trouble stringing sentences together. Spike had then proceeded to have a good old drunken babble for the next hour or so, while Liam sat in the corner staring at the wall, and occasionally having fits of giggles. She smirked; she had so much information on the adventures of both Angelus and Spike now that if either one turned evil and homicidal again, she'd be able to blackmail her way out of danger. That story about Spike, Dru, Angelus, a stable and some villagers was etched into her memory. She couldn't forget that one, no matter how much she wanted to. Giles had already decided that he would have to correct the Council on Spike's other nickname, which was obviously a misspelling: it shouldn't be 'William the Bloody', but 'William the Blotto'. There had been a rendition of 'The Hills Are Alive', followed by 'Merlin, the Happy Pig'. It was a shame he'd passed out before he could finish his recitation of his original poem: "Lovelier than a rose is your resplendent little nose." 

So, having recovered from what seemed to be a three day hangover, Liam had retreated to the shadows of the upstairs apartment, where Giles was letting him stay - although, 'letting him' was probably an exaggeration, since Liam was refusing to move - with mutterings of "English eejit" and "bugger should have stayed dead". They had all nearly given up hope that he'd ever re-emerge, but, after another couple of days of consuming all of Giles' food and beverages, he'd staggered down the stairs and announced that they could "do your worst, I'm ready." So, with that, everyone had exchanged glances, and Buffy had offered to try. 

Cordelia sighed. She really didn't want to have to trust the Slayer with Liam, but she didn't have any other options. If scary memories is what it would take to bring Angel back, she was sure Buffy would have a stackful.She'd seen all of Angel's various highs and lows, not to mention the I-want-to-kill-you-and-everyone-you-care-about and I-shall-destroy-the-world phases. If Liam had reacted so badly to Spike's tale of chaos and mayhem, she didn't want to know what he might think if told that he'd wanted to have the world sucked into hell, and the fact that he'd spent hundreds of years in the bowels of hell itself. She carefully turned another page of the guide, and sucked in a breath as she saw the illustration. Ugh, the pictures in this book were really gruesome, and it was so fragile she was afraid it might snap in two. 

They'd been researching for hours every day. Wesley was enjoying playing the Watcher with Giles again, and, unlike the last time, they were actually getting along quite well. Just went to show how much everyone in Los Angeles had changed. Hopefully the Scoobies were all finally getting that. Cordelia had started to notice that they were treating her with a little less loathing than usual, and actually some respect after they'd witnessed what a few visions did to her. The Powers seemed to have finally gotten the idea that Angel was out of commission for a while - hell, this whole mess was probably one of their twisted games to keep themselves amused - and the visions had either been minor occurences in LA that Gunn could deal with himself, with some consultation from the miniature Watcher's Council that seemed to be evolving in the shop, or events in Sunnydale. The Scoobies had found it to be incredibly useful to know where and when to be at a place to stop the evil, and Buffy had come to rely on Cordy for her visions, and was almost constantly begging her to have more; Buffy had always found violence a good way to work out her frustrations, and Cordy knew that the two groups of fairly different people being thrown together had caused some conflict, not to mention the Angel issues. 

The LA gang were used to pulling all-night research sessions, and then actually helping fight the demons. It was their full-time employment. The residents of Sunnydale, while prepared to help when they could, actually generally had other jobs and lives to get on with. Wesley tended to forget that he wasn't in charge over here, and Xander in particular resented that - especially when Anya started commenting on how she "liked a man with authority and an accent." Buffy in turn wasn't used to having Cordelia and Wesley actively helping against the demons, and didn't like it -she'd gotten a little fond of patrolling solo. As she finally told them, "It's alone time for Buffy. When I reflect on... my crappy existence, and my miserable life. I like my aloneness." Then she'd started to rant at Spike about his following her everywhere, and "just because you obsess over me doesn't mean I obsess over you, 'kay?" Yeah, right, Cordelia thought. She knew as well as everyone else did that Buffy had started to like the idea of having someone love her, no strings attached. Cord wasn't sure if anything really would ever happen, but the banter and flirting, yes, flirting, would continue. They both enjoyed it. Buffy's death and subsequent resurrection seemed to make her develop a stronger friendship with Spike, since he was the only other being who knew some of what she felt. And he was loving it. He obviously still loved the Slayer, but at the moment, was settling for a close friendship - That's what she and Angel had been like, before he'd been replaced with the sweet but annoying Irishman. Cordelia didn't recall asking for an exchange... 

The research, so far, had produced absolutely nothing useful; at least, not when it came to the Liam/Angel conundrum. She'd found plenty of interesting ways to kill various demons, a revitalising herbal face mask, and a way of making one potato into three. And they say that ancient sorcerers were full of hot air, she thought wryly. 

Wesley stared at his friend from where he was sitting, also trying to concentrate on research. He was trying not to show it, but he was just slightly worried about Angel... Liam. Yes, he was Liam now. And probably would be for quite some time. Wes didn't want to let Cordelia see the extent of his negativity, but with every hour that passed, he started to drift further and further into bleak despair. Spike's storytelling abilities had probably caused Liam to regress even further; well, the bugger certainly hadn't helped at all. Wesley wasn't sure if it had been Spike's intention to keep his sire from reappearing, but he'd certainly done a damn good job of it. After he'd sobered up, Liam had been so repulsed by his alter ego that he'd actually refused to talk to any of them for days. Wes really couldn't see Buffy's little effort working, either. The Angelus stories of Sunnydale were probably just as bad as the Angelus of Yore. 

He and Cordelia each had a room at the fabulous Sunnydale Motor Inne, whilst Liam had holed himself up in Giles' apartment. On reflection, maybe that was why he and Cordelia had been spending so much time researching here - it was that, or the company of the friendly cockroaches. Cord had said it was "almost as bad" as her last apartment - he didn't even care to imagine what that must have been like. As it was, they were still here, having had a total of what felt like four hours sleep in the last week, searching for prophecies that might give them some idea of just what the hell had happened. Upon reading and translating the same scroll for the fourth time, Wesley had very nearly given up hope. Cordelia, however, was using enthusiasm to cover what he could only think to be the grief he had started to feel. 

Just as she was getting immersed in the research again, Cordelia heard the tinkling of the bells that were attached to the front door, swiftly followed by Hurricane Liam marching through and stomping upstairs, Buffy quietly walking behind. 

"Well?" Cordy prompted. She couldn't imagine the news could be good, but it was worth asking. 

Buffy frowned. "Not a flicker. What can I do? I took him to all the places I remember he used to love, or hate, in this town. Anything to dredge up the pain. I even tried Acathla and the Mansion, but it didn't work." 

"I take it his reaction was bad," Wesley said. Buffy nodded. 

"He was fine with the stories I told him of the time Angel and I spent together, apart from... apart from the lechery, and comments that 'blondes aren't his type'," Cordy bit her lip to keep herself from smirking, whilst Buffy continued to frown. "I told him all about us having sex, and him turning bad, and Angelus, and Dru and Spike. He didn't like the part where he killed Ms Calendar, and the hell-sucking didn't go down well, either." Cordy flinched at the memories accosting her, and the apparent tactlessness of the new, oddly improved Buffy as did Giles and Dawn, who was helping them out. Well, not exactly helping, more... sitting and commenting how bored she was, and how much she disliked Angel anyway. They had explained the Key situation to Cordy, and she found it fascinating, and a bit creepy. It led her to wonder if Dawn remembered everything the same way they did... 

"So he's just going to sit up there and feel sorry for himself, again?" Dawn asked. "Well, why doesn't someone just explain to him what an incredible loser he's being, and that..." 

"Dawn. Bad time," Buffy said, and grabbed her sister by the arm. "Guys, I'm so sorry. Just... keep looking, 'kay? Dawn has school tomorrow, and needs to get some sleep." 

"No, I don't! Would you stop treating me like a baby, I'm not..." Dawn continued to whine at Buffy as she was dragged out the door. Those remaining in the shop just sat in silence for a second. 

"You know, perhaps there is a good idea within all of Dawn's blathering," Giles said. "Have either of you tried talking to him? It could help." Cordelia and Wesley looked at each other. That was the one thing they rather stupidly hadn't thought of. Having left LA, they had each been throwing countless little theories about, but had never thought of really talking to Liam themselves. Wesley gave Cordelia a meaningful look. 

"Fine, I'll do it," she said, gathering enough energy to stand up. Fighting off the head rush that was threatening to knock her over, she wandered over to the stairs, and hauled herself up them .Looking at her watch, she realised it was nearly 2am. No wonder she was feeling so lethargic. 

She stopped in front of the door to the spare bedroom Liam had taken up residence in. Pausing for a second, she gathered her thoughts together. She had no idea what she was going to say, but she had to try. She was starting to wonder if she really had lost Angel for ever, if she'd never have to put up with his odd sense of humour, his over-protectiveness, or see that rare smile -- no. No, she wouldn't think about it. Come on, Chase, positivity! She'd leave the worrying and the glass is half empty 'tude to Wyndam-Pryce, eternal pessimist. She took a deep breath, then knocked. 

"Liam? It's Cordy. Can I come in?" No response. That was strange - she'd knocked loud enough to wake the dead, which Liam wasn't any more. She tried again. There was nothing but a horrible silence. And Liam didn't seem to be a taciturn kind of guy. "Liam, I'm coming in." She quietly opened the door, and then gasped in horror at the sight that greeted her. "Oh, no, oh God..."

  
To be continued.... 


	6. A Shattered Vase

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 5 

Part 6 

"Oh no, oh God..." Cordy rushed over to the open window, peering over the sill. The curtains were blowing merrily in the breeze, and she squinted at the grass below, leaning over as far as she could without flying out herself... God, he didn't have vampire strength any more, and leaping out of windows probably wasn't an activity conducive to a long and healthy life. She searched the ground, all the time trying to remain calm, and not envisage a crumpled, crushed man lying on the grass two storeys below her vantage point. There didn't seem to be... but it was quite a drop. Shit, shit, shit. 

She pushed herself away from the window, and looked frantically around the room, wondering if this was some kind of sick joke, and he was hiding, waiting to jump out and yell 'Got ya!' Wishful thinking, Chase, wishful thinking. "Liam? Liam, this isn't funny..." There was just a small part of her, telling her to keep looking - and that if she did, he'd magically appear. Having slammed open the closet a fourth time, and gazed out the open window yet again, she had to accept it. Liam was gone. In the middle of the night, into a town full of blood sucking fiends, most of whom would be more than thrilled to draw the life out of the now living Angelus. Crap. 

"Wesley! Giles!" she shouted, anxiety tinging her voice, still peering out of the window. Every time she looked at one of the shrubs a way beneath her, she thought she might be faced with the sickening image of the mangled body of the man formerly known as Angel. Feeling the tears start to well up, she turned around and sat on the sill, head in her hands, waiting for the men to arrive. With every second that passed, she became more and more miserable, and more convinced that he was dead. 

"Cordelia! Cordelia, what's wrong, are you..." Giles stopped as he saw the girl crumpled up sitting on the window sill, her shoulders shaking with the harsh, silent sobs that were wracking her body. He could hear Wesley rushing up the stairs just behind him. Dropping the crossbow that he had somehow grabbed in the panic caused by her tone of voice, he walked over to the window, crouched down in front of her, and gathered the crying girl into his arms. She gladly leaned forward into his embrace, clinging on to him as tightly as she could as they knelt on the carpet, Giles supporting her slight weight. 

"Oh, god, Giles, it's all... all my fault! If I hadn't brought him here, and... and if I hadn't put him through... all of this, if I weren't so selfish..." she said, trying desperately to talk through her tears, which were soaking his collar, leaving black streaks. 

"Shh, Cordelia, it's alright..." he murmured as he rubbed her back, wanting desperately to soothe her, to stop her awful crying; he wasn't sure if he could stand the agony of having this ordinarily plucky, courageous young woman sobbing her heart out in his arms, and clinging to him for dear life. This wasn't the Cordelia he knew; this broken creature had been through so much, and this most recent run of events had all but destroyed her. After a few minutes, her breathing started to get a little more steady, but she continued to tightly hold onto him, her arms wrapped around him, her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. After what seemed to him like hours, her sobbing stopped, and her grip loosened somewhat. He realised that she'd fallen into a deep sleep, no doubt the consequence of all the days and nights she'd spent reading his ancient, confusing texts, and constantly worrying. When Giles really thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time Cordelia had actually had any rest at all. 

Drawing her motionless body closer to his, he stood up, scooping her up into his arms, and moved to carry her out of the room. Wesley had been standing quietly at the door throughout the entire exchange. He had no idea what to do or say -- it was very rare for Cordy to cry, let alone weep openly on the shoulder of one of her colleagues. So, he had just stood and watched, and tried to work out what happened. It didn't take a Watcher's training to figure that out - the open window, along with the absence of Liam, was fairly self explanatory. As Giles walked past Wesley, the younger man found himself feeling very much as he had when he had first come to Sunnydale: wet behind the ears, an outsider. 

"I... I, I, uh, Mr Giles, I..." Giles rolled his eyes. 

"Dear lord, man, don't just stand there catching flies," Wesley snapped his mouth shut, "get Buffy and the others, and start looking for him! I had thought you had grown out of being a blithering idiot, but perhaps..." Giles half smiled as Wesley glared at him, then marched off down the stairs. Giles continued up the hall to his own bedroom, and gently set Cordelia on the bed, pulling the comforter over her. Finding the book he had been looking through for prophecies that could possibly relate to Angel's premature shanshu and succeeding amnesia, he settled in the chair next to the bed, watching over her as she slept. Every time she tossed, turned, murmured or whimpered, he became increasingly determined to find a solution. For to help Angel, however little Giles liked him, was to help Cordelia and to ease her suffering. He continued his researching into the wee hours of the morning, before finally succumbing to the fatigue that had been settling upon him, and falling into a light sleep. 

* * *

It was like piecing together a broken vase. Here and there, shards of glass sparkled in the sunlight, before reverting to being crystalline and invisable, making it impossible for him to see them, and start to reassemble them. And every time he did pick up one of these shards, and tried to put it in the right place, it cut him, and he was forced to drop it again. 

((Close your eyes)) 

Liam had been lying to them all along. It made him feel bad, but if he told them what he remembered, it would give them false hope. For what did he truly recall? Other than small sentences, fragments of events, remnants of the man he used to be, faintly sparkling in the light, teasing him, taunting him? He wanted to put them together, he truly did - he felt like only part of a person, having all these disconnected memories, and being incapable of fixing them together to form a whole. But he still wanted to be himself. 

((If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow)) 

He'd been strangely drawn to the hill on which he now sat, overlooking the town. He guessed that it was a place he'd come to a lot in what now seemed like a previous life. He wasn't sure why he had followed the impulse - maybe because something inside him really did want to come to the surface, some small part of 'Angel' which remained within him. 

((It's not the demon in me that needs killing, Buffy. It's the man)) 

All he knew was that he hated himself. Hated what he'd been, hated what he'd become, hated that he caused everyone around him so much pain. Cordelia. To see the look on her face each time she was faced with the disappointment that the latest memory jog hadn't worked, that her Angel wasn't back with her, and yet he felt glad, glad that he was still Liam and that he was still there. He didn't want to leave them. He'd grown very fond of this century, and the people in it, particularly Cordy. 

((She'll provide a connection to the world. She's got a very ... humanizing influence)) 

He hated how they all treated him as a problem, something that needed be erased. They didn't mean to, he knew - they were just thinking of Angel, wanting their friend back - but it was how Liam felt. He didn't truly understand why they couldn't just accept that he was here, and he intended to stay. "Because I'm no angel," he said to himself. 

((The three of us are all that's standing between you and real darkness)) 

No doubt, they would come looking for him. More than likely, they would find him. Liam knew he was putting himself in danger being here, but after the effort he'd gone to, he wanted to sit by himself and reflect in the calmness and quiet. He realised now how stupid scaling down the trellis, then jumping to the ground, had been. How was he supposed to have known that there was a rosebed just beneath the window? It had broken his fall, but he'd be feeling it for days. 

((And somehow, I just can't seem to care)) 

And so he was going to sit, as these memories bombarded his consciousness, unwanted, unwelcome, invading him, tormenting him. He saw faces. He saw terror. He felt pain. Most importantly, he felt complete, absolute despair. And yet he couldn't place the emotions, didn't know what caused him to feel as he did. He was forced to endure, not knowing what the missing link in the chain was, not sure that he even wanted to know. 

((You're a monster)) 

* * *

"Giles... wake up... Giles?" He slowly opened his eyes, trying to blink away the bleariness that shrouded the room. Clearing his throat, he reached up and straightened his glasses, before trying to work out where the voice was coming from, and to whom it belonged. 

"Cor... Cordelia," he said, as he thought back to the events of the previous night. 

"It's late... well, actually, early - I thought I should wake you, otherwise, y'know..." 

"Are you... how are you?" The girl sitting in front of him on the edge of the bed smiled a weary smile. "That was a rather foolish question, wasn't it?" 

"No... I... I feel better. Sure, I still feel as if my insides are in a vice, but I'm not too exhausted any more." 

"Good. That's... I sent Wesley, Buffy and the rest of her entourage to scour the town and find Liam. Cordelia, I'm sure he'll be..." Cordy rolled her eyes. 

"Oh please, don't even try that. I'm not stupid, you know. Not only did I live in this hell hole for eighteen years, but I've been living in Los Angeles for the last two, so you can't try to kid me with that stuff. I'm not a child, Giles. I don't need to be coddled. And also, when you're uncomfortable, you take off your glasses and make a show of cleaning them. Kind of gives you away when you're lying." Giles stopped what he was doing, stared at her for a second, then put the glasses back on. "Hey, don't look so shocked! I notice things... Fine, Wesley does it, too." Giles made a mental note never to do it again. 

"I... I don't know what to say. Cordelia, I really do think that Liam will be..." he stopped as she raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure Buffy and Wesley will do their best." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I suppose it's never too late for breakfast. Would you...?" 

"That would be lovely," she said, genuinely smiling for the first time in what seemed to Giles like eternity. He smiled back, then prised himself away from the comfort of the chair, walking towards the door. "Giles, wait," she said. He stopped and turned around, an expectant but bemused expression on his face as Cordelia walked towards him. "Thank you," she whispered as she stood just in front of him. Bemused was too mild a description, Giles decided. Utterly dumb-founded and astonished better conveyed his feelings as Cordelia pressed her lips against his.

  
To be continued.... Author's note: PLEASE don't be put off by that last bit! I swear, this is a CA story. And anyone who's read my work before should know that nothing is what it seems.... :D 


	7. Circles in Spirals

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 7 

He meant to push her away. He really, really did. It was wrong. It would be taking advantage - she was traumatised, obviously not thinking straight, and oh, ho wonderfully soft her lips were... Going against the screaming inside his mind, telling him to 'stop, leave the building, the country, if needs be!' Giles leant into the seer's kiss as all will power failed him. 

As Cordelia kissed him, and her fingers played with the collar of his shirt, an alarm bell suddenly went off at the back of her head. At first quietly, then louder, and louder, until- "Angel!" 

Their eyes snapped open at the same time as they both seemed to leap away from each other. Giles blinked a few times, took off his glasses, put them back on again, then turned a deep shade of crimson, all the while avoiding her eyes. Cordy clapped her hand over her mouth, having no clue as to how to articulate what she was feeling. 

"I'm... I'm sorry, but, I... I can't, because Angel... Liam... I- I have to... I mean, I like you and all, and, and you're attractive, for an older guy, and I- I would, but I, I can't, because..." 

"Do you love him?" 

Giles' quiet question cut through her stuttering. Silence. Time seemed to still, and Cordelia froze as her mind span. 

"Yes." 

The revelation was a weight lifted from her shoulders. Giles sighed, and then smiled a small smile. 

"Then what are you waiting for, Cordelia? Find him, and tell him! You might be surprised what effect such simple words can have." For a second, Giles looked profoundly miserable, and her heart went out to him. 

"Giles, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to-" 

"I know. Neither did I. It was quite the... moment, and frankly, I'm a little embarrassed to have, to have allowed you to-" Cordy smiled, and awkwardly wrung her hands as another long silence ensued. 

"You'll find someone, you know. I mean, you and Joyce were... but now she's - gone, and I'm just making this so much worse, aren't I?" 

"I think your shouting another man's name was painful enough," he said with a wry grin. "It's not fair to lead a man on, you know..." Cordy narrowed her eyes at him. 

"Oh, and you were just playing *so* hard to get, weren't you, Mr-" 

"Good-looking Older Man?" he suggested. 

"I was going to go with Mr Puts Innocent Young Girls into his Bed and..." 

Just before Cordy could indeed make anything any worse, Wesley burst into the room. 

"I found.. in the Almanac! The... I can't believe I didn't look there before! There's a ritual, and, we have to find, we have to get ingredients, and..." 

"Woah, Wes, relax, speak *English*, not chipmunk," Cordelia said just as Wesley started to sound as if the tape had been put on fast forward. 

"Ritual?" asked Giles. Wesley nodded as he tried to regain his breath. 

"Yes, Shriffrin's ritual. It requires the skin shed from a Eysenck demon, mixed with some strange herb I'm unfamiliar with, Belladonna in its purest, powdered form, and... Rupert, are you wearing lipstick?" 

Cordelia and Giles exchanged a guilty glance. 

"I think... I have those things downstairs," he uttered before sweeping out of the room. Wesley looked at Cordelia, who looked back innocently. 

"What?" 

* * *

"We've been walking around in circles," Anya announced. "Look, that's where Xander fell over the tree root. And there's where he made the inappropriate joke about hedgehogs. And that's where he whispered to me that..." 

"Anya. I don't think anyone else is interested," Xander hissed. 

"She has a point, though..." Willow started. 

"Hey, I'll have you know that our business is- our, business, and if I say I need to visit the drugstore to get some, certain, medication, it doesn't..." 

"About going round in circles," Willow interrupted, as everyone else started to grin at him. 

"Having some problems, are we, mate?" Spike smirked. "Trouble in the bedroom? Can't get it up?" Anya quickly interrupted. 

"Oh, no, we have none of those problems. I even sometimes tire before he does. Xander forgot to pick up my prescription for... for those little pills, that stop you-" 

"Urgh, enough, we get the picture," Willow interrupted. "Now, as much as we would like to hear about your sex life - which is not at all," she clarified as Anya looked eager to disclose details again, "I don't think Liam's here. He could be dead, I suppose, or a vampire again, which actually would solve a lot of problems, because the original Angel was a vampire, and if that happened, we'd be part way to having him back, and..." 

"Willow, love," Spike interjected. "As much as I enjoyed being tormented by Angelus, I don't think that's a very good plan." 

"Gotta agree with Fangless on that one," Xander said. "The only thing than Angel is demented Angelus, on his first killing spree." 

"Yes, and I, I uh, I think I could live a long and healthy life without ever meeting that Angel," Tara added. 

"I was only talking hypothetically," Willow huffed. "And anyway, I wouldn't even want to work that Thessulah mojo again, since, wow, painful." 

"Guys, this doesn't really seem to be working. Maybe we should just head back for the magic shop, see what Giles and Wesley have come up with? Much as I hate to admit it, Anya's right - my navigational skills are way off today. I think I've seen that crypt three times now. Although, in Sunnydale, you never know..." Buffy said. 

"Sounds like a bloody good idea to me," Spike said. "Traipsing round in circles always makes me feel - now, how would you say it, Slayer? - hungry and horny. Any volunteers?" Buffy rolled her eyes, as Xander clapped his hand over Anya's mouth. 

"In your dreams, Spike," the slayer said. 

"Oh, such a pretty picture, Slayer. Care to elaborate?" Buffy picked up her pace, and marched on ahead, Spike just behind. "Cocktease!" the group behind heard him yell, much to their amusement and Buffy's disgust. 

"Ah, young love," Willow said, grinning. 

* * *

Cordy marched on ahead of Giles and Wesley, who were having trouble keeping up. Having thrown the ingredients and the spell book into a her bag, she immediately swept out the shop, the two men at her heels. 

"Are you sure you know where he went?" Wesley shouted forward to her. 

"I'm sure," she answered. "At least, I hope I am..." The previous night, when she'd been unable to sleep, she'd listened to Liam's mutterings and cursings, which were loud enough to be heard throughout the shop. It had only just dawned on her what he had been talking about - something to do with snow, a view of the world, and an end. She thought back to that strange day that Sunnydale, California had seen the snow, and the stories she'd overheard Buffy tell her friends of finding Angel attempting suicide by sunlight, standing on a hilltop, and immediately realised where Liam had gone. Buffy must have shown him the place the other day - it was one of Angel's favourite spots, a rather picturesque vantage point from which you could see the whole of Sunnydale sprawled out across the horizon, all the way across to the hills opposite. When she'd been at high school, she'd often driven up to that spot with a date, even on occasion Xander; but it was easier to walk. And walking she was. Well, more like a cross between a walk and a sprint. She could hear Wesley start to pant for air, whilst Giles was slowly catching up to her. Fixing her eyes distractedly on the ground, she pondered the events of the day. 

She loved him. She loved Angel. She kept saying it to herself, and wth every repetition, it made more sense. That was what that horrible, swirly feeling at the pit of her stomach had been when she'd had him replaced with Liam; not just upset at the loss of a best friend, but of the man she'd grown to love. That was why the growing feeling of despair had been so suffocating. It was all becoming clear, and at the same time more and less complicated. 

She continued to muse as she stared at the grass. All of a sudden, there appeared to be a... foot, right in front of her. A foot encased in a stiletto boot, and black leather pants... 

Buffy didn't even have time to yell in shock as Cordelia careered straight into her. The contents of Cordy's satchel were strewn about the floor as Spike helped Buffy up, and Giles and Wesley appeared at Cordy's side. She took the hand Giles offered her, and shakily stood up, as Wesley crawled about the floor, carefully tossing the items back in the bag. 

"Buffy... Spike... we were just going to..." Wesley panted. 

"Wesley found something!" Cordelia said. "Come on, I know where he is! Move it!" And she took off again, Buffy and Giles on her heels, as the rest of the Scooby gang and Wesley caught up to each other. 

"What the lady said." Wes picked up the bag, and started to follow. The rest of the group exchanged bemused glances. 

"They've all gone completely insane," Xander said. "The Hellmouth's finally gotten to them, and they've lost their minds." 

* * *

As Cordy reached the top of the hill, she suddenly got the feeling that all was not well. Shining her torch about the area, she suddenly noticed a small object on the top of the hill. Buffy, Giles and Spike stood just behind her. 

"What's that?" Buffy asked. Cordelia drew a sudden breath of air. 

"Oh, oh... no... no!" She took off at a run towards the object, taking with her the failing torch. 

Giles and Buffy were at a loss as to the cause of the seer's strange behaviour, but Spike, who could see slightly better in the now pitch black, had some idea. 

"Uhm, ducks, I don't think it's so much a 'what' as a 'who'..." 

As Wesley caught up, the group stood, frozen, staring in horror, as Cordy flung herself upon the huddled mass, whom they could now faintly hear babbling and moaning. 

The huddled mass that was looking, as they stared for longer at it, like the crumpled up body of a certain Irishman. 

"Liam..." breathed Wesley, dread seeping its way into his voice and his heart.

  
To be continued... 


	8. Resolution

**MEMORY LANE**

  


Part 8 

"Liam... Liam, shh, no, don't... quiet, it's all - alright, just..." The tears were running down Cordy's face as she stroked his hair, kneeling beside him and trying to hold his flailing hands in her own, to stop him doing any more damage to himself. Looking at his face, she saw blood where he'd torn at his own skin in a fury. 

"Monsters, all of- killing, dying, hear them scream... the faces, the little children, me, I, I, stop, stop it! Leave me... me... but, bad, punished- leave me to, to, I have to pay for... for..." He started to whimper, and Cordelia hugged him to her tightly, for fear that if she let go, she'd lose him, forever. 

"You - you have nothing to, to pay for, I... Liam, I, I don't know how to help, I ca- can't do anything, shhh, I, I don't know what to do..." She had never felt so useless, so helpless in her life. As she tried to soothe the wretched man, her tears mingled with his own, her sobbing with his. 

_"Heben Sie einen Schleier von seinen Augen an,  
Die nicht willkommene Schatten abreisen,  
Wiederherstellung sein Geist also  
Können es sein"   
_

Her fragile form supporting his, Cordelia knelt, Liam clutching onto her hair as if it were his only lifeline. Through bleary eyes, he gazed into her face. "I'm... I'm sorry," he murmured, and buried his face in her neck. Cordy's face collapsed as the sobs wracked through her body - she wasn't sure if they were his, or her own. Wesley's chanting faded into the background, and she noticed Giles pouring powder in a circle around them through eyes blurred with tears. 

_"Durch meinen Willen  
Nehmen Sie die Schwärzung von seinem Anblick,  
Wiederherstellen seinen Gedanken,  
Können es sein"  
_

Giles stood by Wesley, who continued to chant, louder and louder. For the first time, Giles noticed how bloodshot the younger man's eyes were. He was gripping the book so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, and his eyes were shining unnaturally brightly - Giles didn't want to hazard a guess as to whether it was the power of the spell, or the unshed tears in the man's eyes. 

Standing just behind the watchers, the whole Scooby gang looked on in increasing horror. Willow clutched Tara's hand tightly in her own; Xander had his arm slung around Anya, and Buffy and Spike stood next to each other quietly. 

"Do you... do you think it's working?" Buffy asked in a timid voice. 

"I... I don't know, love, magic was never one of my strengths." As he saw her expression darken, he felt a horrible pang of sympathy in the pit of his stomach. Maybe she still felt something for Angel, but still, all he wanted to do was comfort her. "But, it looks good, and the archaic German, sounds... uh, quite authentic, and-" he was very nearly winded as Buffy flung herself into his arms. In his surprise, he paused, as still as a statue, before at first awkwardly rubbing her back. And there they all stood; powerless to help, powerless to do anything other than watch. 

_"Löschen Sie den Schwärzungsgrad von seiner Seele,  
Wahrheit ist in seinem Inneren,  
Anhebt den Schleier,  
Können es sein"  
_

Wesley was distracted from his mantra as the grass surrounding Liam and Cordelia seemed to - well, it started to glow. The powder shone with growing intensity, forming a sort of fairy circle around the couple. To Giles' and Wesley's astonishment, the ring lifted from the ground, bright lights flitting, flickering, spinning round and round, with increasing velocity. All of a sudden, the lights grew blindingly bright, and burst into flame. 

"My God..." Giles breathed, rooted to the spot in horror. "I don't think this was mentioned in the book..." 

"Cordelia! Cordy!! Come on, leave him! Get out, before... before..." Wesley couldn't do anything but watch as the flames closed in on the seer, and the grass became charred and blackened. He suddenly regained the ability to move, and without thinking, threw himself into the circle, thinking only that he had to save at least one of his best friends. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost them both... 

At least, he would have thrown himself into the circle, had the circle not promptly thrown him out again. As he hit the edge of the hoop, a massive force threw him through the air, and he catapulted backwards, straight into Giles. The two men scrambled about on the grass, until, upon seeing the blazing fire, they sat, light glinting from their glasses, eyes wide. 

Cordelia and Liam were trapped in a fiery inferno. The flames were a beautiful sight, golden and tipped with lilac and blue; it was a morbid, deadly kind of radiance. Cordelia wasn't sure if she could stand the heat without screaming for much longer. The flames licked her arms as she and Liam huddled close; she could almost smell her hair start to frazzle. Liam's skin was already blistering, and there was a putrid smell of burning flesh. 

Even those on the outside could feel the heat. Giles backed off a little, pulling Wesley, who seemed to be in some kind of daze, with him. As they looked on, they could see the flames engulf the couple, see Cordelia's skin turn a deep shade of red, even through the blaze. Anya could see Xander physically trying to blink back his tears, and, when he failed miserably, trying to surreptitiously wipe them away. Willow and Buffy were crying openly, and Giles was far from uneffected. The strangest thing of all, however, was Wesley's expression of stoicity. Even as the flames glinted in his eyes, he stayed incredibly still; not moving, not crying. His mind shut out the possibility that the two people most important to him in the world were gone. 

Cordy clutched Liam tightly as the pain took over her body. He whimpered in her grasp, and moisture streamed down her face, making the burns sting. As she closed her eyes, a peace, a calmness took her over. All she could see was his face; her Angel's face, gazing at her with that unchanging expression, but with love in his eyes. Suddenly, the man in her arms was that Angel. She would spend her last moments with him, no matter what he was calling himself, no matter what he knew of their time together - it was still the same man, with or without two hundred odd years of life experience. It was still the man she owed her life to, many times over; still the man she... 

"I love you," she whispered, holding onto him even more tightly than before. And everything went black. 

* * *

Giles wondered if he'd gone blind. And then he realised - as quickly as they had erupted, the flames had melted away to nothing. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus. The brilliance of the fire had, to some extent, blinded him, and he was having trouble regaining his vision, as were the people around him. 

The silence was suddenly broken by a moan. Wesley seemed to snap out of his daze, and scrambled to his feet. 

"No... no, not them, no, they can't-" 

Giles grabbed him by the arm as he attempted to move towards the charred ring. 

"Wesley, we don't know that it's safe! You know as little as I do about that kind of magic, and your being killed by your own stupidity is going to do nothing to bring them back!" Wes blinked at him, and Giles was shocked by his own harsh words. "I'm... sorry, but it's the truth." Giles having loosened his grip, Wes managed to break free, and all but dived into the circle, to be presented with a burnt and bloodied Cordelia. 

Except that he wasn't. 

His eyes adjusting to the light, Wes could see Cordelia entwined in Liam's arms, apparently sleeping peacefully. His hand shaking, Wesley placed his fingers against her neck, his mind telling him to expect the worst, but his heart feeling otherwise. In fact, he didn't know what to think. It was all incredibly confusing. For there wasn't a scratch on either of them. 

Snatching his hand away, he sat back in wonder. "But that's... it's... impossible..." he whispered, backing away a little, and running a hand through his hair. As the rest of the group's eyes also adjusted, a collective gasp hung on the air, as Liam's body suddenly shifted a little. 

His eyes snapped open, and darted from the group, to the sky, and down to the woman in his arms. 

"Where.. where am I? What happened? Cordy? Cordy, are you hurt?" He softly shook her shoulders, and she yawned. 

"Liam... Liam, you're alive, you're..." her eyes focussed on the man's furrowed brow. "Angel?" 

"What's going on, Cordy? I don't remember... I do, I remember you - and, I was..." his eyes widened in disbelief. "I was... I forgot, and I.... you... love me?" Her arms still wrapped around him, and his around her, she looked up into his eyes. He could see so many emotions in hers, and she obviously wasn't sure whether to burst into tears, or scream with joy. She opted for the latter. 

"Angel... oh, god, Angel! You're.. *you*, and you're back, and, oh, I missed you!" She hugged him as tightly as she could. "And... yes, I love you, dumbass, you." She smiled so widely she thought she might strain all the muscles in her face. "It's always been you. And I was just too... too blind to realise, until it was nearly too late, and..." she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "I nearly lost you," she said in a quiet voice. 

"Shh, Cordy, I'm here, I'll always be here... I love you, too. I love you." They smiled at each other, then he leant down, and gently kissed her. Pouring all of their feelings into the tender kiss, getting lost in it, only a loud coughing from the general direction of Spike pulled them out of the moment. Breaking apart, they looked over towards the main group. 

"Uhmmm... hey, everyone," Angel said sheepishly, before a Wesley-shaped blur hurled himself at them. 

"Woah, Wes, gotta... breathe, y'know," Cordy gasped, as Wesley uncharacteristically enveloped them in a group hug. Suddenly, he seemed to come to his senses, and jumped back. 

"...Good to see you, Angel," he mumbled. 

"You too, Wes, you..." his voice cut off abruptly as he saw the morning rays break across the horizon, and a violent cursing come, yet again, from the general direction of Spike. Angel took a deep breath, just because he could, and felt the air inflate his lungs. "I'm... I'm... mortal?" Cordy nodded at him, as a grin spread across his face. "I'm... human! I'm, I'm going to get old! I'll go grey, and get wrinkles, and.. and..." 

"All of those things we mortals pay surgeons good money to avoid?" Cordelia asked, whilst grinning inanely. 

"All of... and, and *we'll* grow old. We'll grow old... together?" he asked a little hesitantly. 

"Duh," she gently chided. "What else did you expect? You're stuck with me, mister. Forever." 

"Forever and a day," he smiled. 

"Urgh, don't get all Hallmark with me. I don't know if I can bear it, after all this... it's been quite the trip down memory lane, hasn't it?" 

"Quite the trip," he agreed. "You saved me, Cordy... without you, I wouldn't be here now... you make my life worth, well, literally living." With a glint in his eye, but a serious expression on his face, he smiled down at her. "We've got quite some time ahead of us..." 

"A lifetime," she smiled. 

"And every day I spend with you, it makes me love you more." 

The End.

  


EPILOGUE 

"Urgh, why do these things always end with such a cliched line?" 

"Why do you always have to spoil the ending by asking that?" 

"You know, in all the millenia I've had to work with you, I don't think you've ever made anyone's life as miserable as you made that pair's, and, after all that, you gave them a nauseatingly happy ending. Why?" 

"Hey, there's difficult things ahead of them, you know. Battles, apocalypses, in-laws... You thought they'd get it easy? My job doesn't work that way; you of all people should know that by now. That man was never supposed to have an easy life. All the hurt and misery any one of his personas caused, he had to pay for." 

"And he has? Paid, I mean?" 

"...We'll see. The thing is, I'm just the hands of them up above. I do their bidding; their wish is my command, et cetera, et cetera. It's up to them what happens next. I was just told that he needed to realise the things that were constant in his life. The things that mattered the most. The people that would always be with him. And they, or she, in this case, needed to realise that, as well. So, I came up with that. Entertaining, ne c'est pas?" 

"Alright, fine, but why the light show? In all the years I've come across the ritual of Shriffrin, I've never seen anything like that happen... usually, a flash and sparkle, amnesia lifted. Speak up, Fate, enlighten me." 

"Again, did you really think I'd make it that simple for them? They're lucky I didn't try something like I did with that couple in Verona. These two... there was something about them, it seemed like something more elaborate would be fitting... something to test the loyalty of their friends, the strength of their relationship, her courage, their hearts. Something... interesting. 

"Besides, it's not as if we get pay-per-view up here."

  
FIN  
  
_It's been fun :) Long, but fun. Please feed me! kaffeineaddict@hotmail.com_  
  



End file.
